Split
by Mummyluvr
Summary: An explosion at a hospital causes Dean to split into 2 personalities, good and evil. How will he and Sam deal?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Split

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or Sam and Dean. If I did, there would A LOT more Dean angst, trust me :)

Summary: In an explosion caused by a nutjob in a hospital, Dean is split into 2 personalities, good and evil. Now Sam's stuck trying to deal with them both, and ends up finding out a thing or two about his brother. A sequel's currently in the works.

* * *

The little blonde nurse ran through the halls, checking on each of her patients. Most were sound asleep, some were watching TV, and still others just glared at her with contempt. She had never liked working in the psych ward. 

Millie finished her final round of the day, smiling as she passed the small office at the end of the hall.

Her coworkers watched her bustle about, trying to gather all of her things before heading home.

"Millie, Hun," the head nurse began calmly, "did you check on Peter?"

Millie sighed. "No, I forgot. But what can he do, Dee? He's tied to his bed."

"You know he likes you, Mil. Wants to say good-bye to you before you leave each day. Just go see the boy."

"Fine," Millie conceded, "I'll go see him."

Peter Hemming was her least favorite patient. He was a thirty-something year old with a multiple personality disorder. Good Peter liked her, evil Peter threatened her. Just the thought of him, so deranged, made Millie sick to her stomach.

"Hey, Peter," she whispered, sticking her head into the room, "you awake?"

He turned to her, smirking evilly, "I'm gonna kill you," he hissed viciously.

Millie shook her head and turned to leave the room just as Peter tossed a lit match towards the tank of oxygen that was keeping his roommate alive. The hospital was engulfed in fire.

Sam Winchester woke up screaming, cold sweat running in rivers down his face, chest and back.

"What now?" Dean asked, slightly perturbed. He loved his little brother to death, but when the guy's psychic dreams woke them both up at one a.m., well, that was a different story.

"Hospital fire," Sam muttered, wiping his brow, trying to recall every detail of the dream.

"Our kind of thing?"

"If I'm having a dream about it, it probably is," he replied, panting.

Dean sighed. "Any idea where?"

"I think it was somewhere in Montana. There was a patient that threw a match into his roommate's oxygen tank."

"So we're dealing with a genius," Dean replied sarcastically, "awesome."

"It was in a psych ward. Maybe something's haunting the guy. His name was Peter Hemming, I think."

"We'll Google him tomorrow," Dean said, laying back down and closing his eyes.

"We're going to Montana, Dean," Sam insisted, "and we're going tonight." His older brother moaned and pulled himself out of the motel's soft bed, scratching his head.

"Whatever. You Google, I'll drive."

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So, any comments? Reviews? Please, I'm seriously desperate for approval here, people! 


	2. Chapter 2

Well, no one reviewed, and that makes me sad, but I'll keep updating, jsut hoping that someone stumbles across the story and enjoys it. Yep... just keep updating...

* * *

"Good morning, Millie," Sam smiled sweetly as Dean glanced around the hospital and yawned. They'd pulled into Onyx Montana at four in the morning and been searching for a motel since. The brothers had finally found a nice little fleabag and stowed their gear around five. After that, it was off to the hospital to try and find Peter Hemming.

Millie looked up at the two doctors. "Yes?" She asked politely.

"I'm Dr. Kent, this is Dr. Luthor. We are interested in one of your patients here, a Peter Hemming. His regular doctor is expecting us."

"Oh, well, Dr. Stable isn't in at the moment."

"That's OK," Dean said, approaching the desk, "he told us to go right ahead. We've never really seen anyone with, um, Peter's condition."

"Multiple personalities? He should be a nuthouse, but he's suicidal half the time. Go right on in. He might be sleeping. Wake him gently. Room 713."

"Thanks," Sam nodded as the brothers walked down the hall together.

"Kent and Luthor?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow, "what would you have done if she caught that?"

"Told her it was a funny coincidence, that's all," Sam replied, grinning.

"Why did I have to be the bad guy? The _bald_ bad guy?"

"Because," Sammy said, lowering his voice as he opened the door to room 713, "everyone knows I'm nicer than you."

"Watch it, Supes," Dean warned, "or I'll pull out some of that kryptonite you like so much."

"Who are you?" the very awake man tied to the hospital bed inquired.

"We're friends of your doctor," Dean said, "we wanted to talk to you."

"I'm sure you did," he sneered, "but I'm not in the mood right now. Leave me alone."

"We can't do that," Sam said, "we're supposed to, um, observe you today."

"Why? I'm not gonna do anything."

"We didn't say were. We just want to ask a few questions, see what your answers are. You know, doctor stuff."

"I'm not five. Don't talk to me like I'm a little kid. I know what you people think I am. A freak."

"Listen," Dean said slowly, "we need to know. Do you ever hear any voices that other people can't?"

"No. I never hear voices, I never see anything odd. I just change sometimes. Into this weak, pathetic version of myself. You wouldn't like him."

"Can I meet him?"

"No. He deserves to die. Like Millie. I'm going to kill her today."

Sam and Dean glanced at each other.

"How?" Sam asked.

"I'll show you," Peter smirked as Millie popped her head into the room.

"Hey, Peter. You awake?"

"Watch," he sneered, staring at the brothers as he pulled the match from under his mattress and lit it on the rough ropes that bound his hands to the bed.

As Peter tossed the match, sending it through the air to its fatal landing place by the oxygen tank Dean grabbed his brother and pushed him from the room. A blast of warm met shoved him through the door as the deranged man in the hospital bed laughed his last psychotic laugh.

Dean felt something tug in his gut as he and Sam flew from the room, like something was disengaging, and then he saw darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

First off, I'd just like to thank everyone who reviewed. That's the kind of stuff that keeps me writing! Now we're getting to the good stuff, so stay tuned!

* * *

"Dean? Dean?" Sam knew what would happen if his brother didn't come around before the fire department and cops showed up. They would both be questioned and their true identities would be revealed.

"What?" he heard someone to his left ask just as his brother came to in his arms.

"Oh, Dean," Sam sighed, picking his older brother up and carrying him from the rubble of the room, "thank goodness you're all right. We couldn't stop it, Dean. I think the nurse is dead."

"I saved you?" Dean muttered.

"Yeah," Sammy nodded, "yeah, I guess you did." If it hadn't been for Dean, both brothers would probably have been blown to bits.

"Good," he whispered and passed out again.

Sam paced through the motel room. Dean had been unconscious for almost two days, and in that time a young woman had been killed. At first it hadn't seemed like their kind of thing, but as time passed, Sam began to doubt that was true.

The girl had been in her twenties, blonde, and single. She had been found stabbed to death in a hotel room on the outskirts of town. The police said it looked like a crime of rage. If Hemming had died in the fire in a state of rage he may have come back and murdered the girl. Sam just needed his brother's advice. Dean had dealt with the supernatural more than Sam had and was a little better at finding legitimate jobs.

Dean began to stir. He opened his eyes and looked around, confused.

"Sam? Where? Where'd you?"

Sammy sat down beside his brother. "I'm here, Dean, and I think I found a reason for us to stay just a little longer."

"What happened to the nurse and Peter?"

"They both died in the fire. We would have, too, if you hadn't-"

"That's terrible," Dean shook his head, ignoring the splitting headache he'd woken up with, "those poor people."

"Yeah, well, don't feel too bad for them yet," Sam muttered, "I think Peter may have picked up a taste for murder. A twenty year old blonde was found stabbed to death in a hotel room the other day. I think he may have done it."

"Why?"

"Because he's a nut job, Dean."

"That's not very nice."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I think we should check it out. I just wanted your opinion."

"Whatever you want to do, Sam, is fine with me. Just as long as we're together."

"You feeling all right?" Sammy asked, a little concerned. His brother was always so sarcastic, insensitive, and just… not nice. This was a completely different side of Dean Winchester, a side his brother had hardly seen.

"I'm fine. Well, I've got a headache, but other than that I feel great. Why?"

"Nothing. Nothing. So, we gonna go check out the crime scene?"

Dean shrugged, smiling, "why not?"

"Well, officers," the hotel manager said, avoiding eye contact as best he could, "she entered with a gentleman about your age."

"Can you describe him?" Sam asked, knowing from the manager's nervously wringing hands that he couldn't.

"No, I'm sorry. He was maybe your height," he pointed at Dean, "and he was wearing a black leather jacket, torn jeans, and sneakers. He had on sunglasses, which I thought was odd because it was night. They got a room together. I heard her scream later that night, but her friend was nowhere to be seen."

"But she was in the room with someone?"

"Yes."

"Thanks a lot," Dean smiled, "we'll keep in touch." The manager nodded and turned back to what he had been doing before being interrupted.

"Well that was helpful," Sam said sarcastically as the brothers got into the Impala.

"It sure was," Dean commented, "at least now we know we're not dealing with some deranged spirit."

"I was being-" Sam began, but decided to drop it. His brother had been acting weird all morning, but, then again, he had suffered a lot of head injuries lately.

"What?" he asked, pulling out of the lot.

"Nothing," Sam said, looking at Dean, "when did you get that shirt?" The boys traveled mostly with the clothes on their backs and the trunk full of weapons, and Sam couldn't remember ever seeing his brother clad in just a white shirt and jeans.

"I've always had it packed away," Dean explained, "just decided to wear it today. Get rid of the dark brooding stuff, you know."

"Yeah," Sam muttered. Maybe nothing supernatural had happened to the girl in the hotel, but there was definitely something strange going on with his brother.


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys! Thanks again for all the reviews. I especially liked fuzzylemon's. I actually got the idea for this story from watching "Onyx" (a season 4 episode of Smallville). I didn't like the way Lex split into what seemed like normal and evil, and then didn't remember anything. it was the inspiration.

* * *

"You're not going to believe this," Dean marveled as Sam pulled on a shirt, "another one died."

"What?"

"Exactly the same as the last five. Found stabbed to death in a motel."

"Someone has some anger issues."

"I'll say. The manager of the latest motel said that the guy was maybe six feet tall, wearing-"

"A black leather jacket, dark sunglasses, and torn jeans." Sam finished.

"Wow. You really are psychic," Dean marveled. He wasn't being sarcastic, and that worried his younger brother. In fact, Sam had been worried about Dean since the explosion in the hospital. He hadn't quite been himself. He was caring, considerate, and just different. He no longer made his usual witty, sarcastic remarks.

"Yeah, well, this is the sixth murder. Maybe we're not dealing with anything supernatural. Maybe it's just a crazy person."

"Or maybe it's a vampire. Only seen at night. Wears a lot of black."

"But he's stabbing people, not biting them."

"Maybe it's just a weird vampire," Dean suggested, shrugging.

"Yeah, well, you keep thinking about it. I'm gonna go." Sam said, grabbing the car keys and pulling on a jacket.

"Where?" Dean asked, standing up and leaving the newspaper he'd been reading crumpled on the bed.

"I thought we'd have donuts today. I've gotta go pick them up. At the Krispy Kreme, you know?"

"Can I come?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. Things were really getting weird in Winchester-world. "You want to come with me to pick up donuts? Why?"

"I need to know you're coming back," Dean answered weakly.

Sam laughed, rolling his eyes, "yeah, Dean," he replied sarcastically, "you've discovered my master plan. One day I'll leave for donuts and never some back."

"You don't have to be mean about it," the elder said. Something in his voice made Sam stop at the door.

"Are you _crying_?" he asked.

Dean turned to look at him, swiping a hand quickly over his eyes. "Yeah. Of course I'm crying. You're gonna leave. You said so yourself. You've got a chance at normalcy waiting for you beyond that door. What have I got? Dad and demons."

Sam just stared at him. It was one thing for Dean to cry, but for him to _admit_ to it? It had taken almost a week and a half, but Sammy was finally ready to accept that something bad had happened to his brother. Something was making him act odd.

"OK," he said, grabbing Dean's shoulders and sitting him on the bed, "I'm gonna go get breakfast and you're gonna sit here and wait for me to get back. Then we're going to talk. There's something wrong with you, Dean, and I don't think you realize it. So just sit back, relax, and wait for me. I _am_ coming back."

Slowly, he backed out the door and to the car, never taking his eyes off their unit. Of all the places for Dean to have a mental breakdown, he had to choose a town with a nutty vampire. It figured.

He drove the four blocks to the tiny little café/donut shop deep in thought.

"Half dozen glazed," he mumbled when the lady behind the counter asked him what he'd like. His brother had cried over nothing and he was ordering donuts. It seemed wrong somehow. Things should be the other way around.

Waiting for his breakfast Sam glanced around the shop at the few people sitting at small tables talking. Each group was talking, no doubt, about the odd string of murders. Everyone but the table closest to the door.

The man wearing a dark jacket was laughing, his head turned to look out the window. A pretty blonde girl was sitting across the table from him, also laughing.

"So then," the man said, "the idiot tries to shoot me. He didn't even stop to think that I wasn't stupid enough to give him a _loaded_ gun!" They burst out laughing again.

Sam approached the table slowly as the man turned around.

"Sammy. How's it hanging?"

"Dean?" It seemed impossible for his brother to be at the café, especially since he'd left him in tears on the motel bed and taken the car, though Dean might have walked. But he wasn't wearing the white shirt he'd sported for the past week. He was clad in all black.

"Yep. This is Ellen. Say hi to my psycho brother, Hun."

"Hi," the blonde said, laughing.

"What are you doing here, Dean?"

"I'm surprised you even remember my name, Sammy. I mean, I saved you from that fire and you just left my butt there. I'm lucky I woke up when I did, otherwise I would have had to answer a lot of questions. But then, isn't that the way it always goes? I save you, you ditch me, we're a happy family?"

Ellen laughed again as the old woman behind the counter held up a small box. "You want these?" she yelled across the café. Sam turned to get his order. When he looked back at the table, his brother and Ellen were gone. So was the Impala.


	5. Chapter 5

Wow.I really am glad so many people are reviewing the story. I hope it doesn't disappoint you or anything.

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Sam finally stumbled back through the door to the motel room to find Dean still sitting on the bed, his eyes red and puffy. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, disgusted.

"You came back," Dean smiled, "just like you said."

"How old are you?" Sam asked, shaking his head. At the moment, Dean seemed more like a traumatized seven year old than a demon-hunting, ass-kicking man in his mid-twenties.

"26. You know that." he rolled his eyes, "what kind of donuts did you get."

"Glazed. I had to walk back here, Dean. How'd you get the keys? They were in my pocket."

"What are you talking about? I've been here the whole time. I was worried you'd just… left."

"That's weird, seeing as how I saw you sitting there in the café with some blonde chick."

"Was she pretty?" For a minute, it seemed like the old Dean was back.

"I guess," Sam said, "but then you took the car and left with her. Now where's the Impala and where's Ellen?"

"I don't know anyone named Ellen, and even if I did, she wouldn't be here. I don't know where the car is, either."

"So you're telling me someone stole your car?"

"I guess."

"And that doesn't bug you?"

"As long as you're safe, Sam, nothing else matters." Dean said, smiling at his little brother. Sammy almost gagged.

"What has gotten into you? First you're all touchy-feely, then you insult me at the café-"

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Sam couldn't remember ever hearing those words coming out of his brother's mouth in that order and context.

"I said I'm sorry. For insulting you. Even though I wasn't there."

"Well, someone who looked like you was there. And I think whoever it was took the keys. We're stuck here until we find him."

Dean seemed to consider for a moment. "Doppelganger?" he suggested, pulling a donut from the box.

"No. Ordinarily I'd have to say it's possible, but not now. This is different. There was a feel about this guy. He looked like you, dressed like you, and acted like you, but he felt… different somehow."

"Evil?" Dean ventured, taking a large bite of donut.

"Maybe. You've been different, too. _Softer_, I guess. Nicer. More vulnerable. All since the accident. That guy at the café said I'd left him in the hospital. Is it possible-"

"That I have an evil twin running around? I sure hope not. Though he might be able to help us find this killer."

"Dean," Sam said, horrible realization dawning in his eyes, "what if he _is_ the killer?"

"But I'm not capable of something like that. I wouldn't try to kill _people_," Dean replied, disgusted.

"What if it's not you. Not really, anyway. It explains the weirdness, the way you've been acting lately."

"The explosion did something?"

Sam thought for a while, trying to find out how best to phrase his answer. It seemed impossible, even to him, and he hunted evil for a living. "Maybe, when Peter caused that explosion and died, part of his energy was transferred to the last person out of the room. You. That could explain the multiple personalities. You've just been so different lately."

"Nicer, you mean?" Dean looked like he was about to cry again.

"Yeah, sure, nicer. Maybe, instead of just splitting your personality mentally-"

"It split me physically, too. That would explain why that guy was such a jerk at the café."

"And it explains why you've been so different. This must be the good half of your personality." Sam beamed. Dean was usually the one to figure out something weird was going on and he always got to the bottom of it first.

"Then what's the other me like?"


	6. Chapter 6

Yay! More reviews! Well, for everyone who wants to see more Evil Dean... here ya go!

* * *

The music from the other room was blaring. Dean had gone to bed early, upset about what his other half might be up to. Sam couldn't blame him, after all, his brother had become more emotional since the explosion. He could remember laying awake at night as a kid and wondering what his brother really thought about him, wishing that Dean would reach out a little more, show a little more of his true nature. Now he just wanted his old, distant, sarcastic brother back.

Things rattled and banged in the room on the other side of the paper thin motel wall. Sammy had a pretty good idea what those people were doing. He heard a girl yelling a single syllable, probably some lucky guy's name, over and over again.

He rapped loudly on the wall. "Hey! Keep it down, some people are trying to sleep over here." Besides, who blasted Metallica while trying to have sex?

"Cry me a river grandma," a familiar male yelled over the roaring stereo. Sam sat up straight in bed and looked at his brother. That sounded like something the old, sarcastic Dean would have said. He looked back at the wall. It couldn't be.

Sam shook his head, laying back down on his pillow. The strange events of the day were getting to him. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to get some sleep. Someone in the other room screamed, high-pitched and blood-curdling.

Sam jumped out of bed and ran to the door, throwing it open and running outside. The door to the room next to his opened and Dean came strolling out, dark sunglasses perched atop his head, covered in blood.

"Oh, hey Sammy."

"Dean, what was that?"

"That was Ellen."

"What did you do to her?" he asked, although he dreaded the inevitable reply.

"I had to cut her loose, Sammy. Her usefulness had ended."

"How'd you, um, cut her loose?"

Dean smirked, pulling a bloody knife from his back pocket and wiping it on his soggy, blood-stained shirt. "With this."

"You killed her," Sam marveled, following his brother to the Impala, "you stabbed her to death. You've been killing those girls all along."

"Right-o, college boy."

"Dean, something happened. There was an accident when the hospital blew up. This isn't you."

His brother turned to look at him, loathing in his eyes so strong that Sam almost screamed and jumped back, fearing Dean might slash at him. "I'm free now. If that's a problem for you and goody-two-shoes in there it's just too bad."

"But we can find a way to fix it. Things can go back to the way they were."

"I don't think so," Dean said, elbowing Sam in the stomach before bringing the handle of the knife down hard on his head. Sammy blacked out.

"Sam! Sam, can you hear me? Oh, come on, wake up!"

Sam opened his eyes to see Dean kneeling beside him. The memory of his last encounter with his brother still fresh in his mind, he attempted to back away. Then he noticed the white shirt. _Bad Dean wears black_, he thought slowly, his head and stomach aching.

"What happened?" Dean asked, helping Sam to his feet.

"I was attacked, but-"

"Are you OK? If they hurt you, I swear, I'll kill them."

"Dean," Sam moaned, a little taken aback by his brother's sudden mood swing, "I'm fine, really. We have bigger problems."

"Like what?" he asked, looping his arm under Sam's and leading him back into the room.

"Another murder."

"Is that it? I don't care about some random girl off the street. Are you sure you're all right? Who attacked you? What did he look like? We can go to the cops, get him thrown in jail."

"That's gonna be a little hard," Sam answered, sitting down on the bed closest to the door, "he looked like you, Dean."

"So you were right?" Dean closed the motel room door behind him, locking it securely. He sat on the bed next to his brother, shaking his head sadly. "There really is another me?"

"Maybe not another _you_, just another _part_ of you."

"I'd never hurt you, Sam, you know that. No part of me would, either."

"I'm not so sure about that," Sammy replied, rubbing the large tender bump on the back of his head, "he's the one committing the murders. I'm sure of it now. That girl I saw him with, Ellen, she's dead now."

"This can't get any worse," Dean moaned, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes.

"It can. He knows about you. I guess he saw me walk out of the hospital with you. It could be a problem."

"How?"

"If he decides there's only enough room in Onyx for one Dean Winchester. We have to find a way to put you back together."

"Sounds painful."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes. "I doubt it'll hurt much in the long run. But until then, we need to keep him away from you. He's already killed seven people, there's no telling how he'd react to his good side."

Dean stood up and began to pace the room. Sam watched him, a little concerned. He was starting to figure out which of his real brother's traits this 'better half' had picked up in the explosion. He seemed overly emotional, extremely protective, and even seemed to be having a hard time with the fact that a not-so-nice version of himself had spent the past week on a killing spree. All-in-all, good Dean was hardly like the brother Sam remembered.

"I've got to think about this," Dean muttered, running his hands distractedly through his short hair, "I'll be back soon." He grabbed the room key off the dresser and paused, looking at Sam, a twinge of fear in his eyes. "Promise me you'll be here when I get back."

"The other you took the car," Sam replied, trying not to react to his brother's momentary show of weakness, "how am I going to go anywhere?"

Dean smiled and walked out of the room into the pitch black night, his shoulders slumped under the weight of seven murders.


	7. Chapter 7

All right. Anotehr day, another update. More good vs. evil, and, of course, the funny-ness that is Supernatural :)

* * *

Dean walked down the shadowy alleyway behind the motel. Anyone else would have been worried, but not him. He was the fearless Dean Winchester after all. He swiped at his eyes, momentarily clearing them of the tears that had begun to form.

Sure, he'd been feeling strange since the explosion, but that was to be expected. He'd been thrown out of a freaking hospital room, across a hall, and had landed on his younger but taller brother. Some weirdness was bound to ensue after that.

Maybe he'd been feeling a little less like his regular self, but maybe that was good. Maybe Sam liked him better now, and if Sam liked him better…

A strong arm closed around Dean's head, holding him in place, and he felt a the cool blade of a knife being shoved under his chin.

"I'm gonna turn you around slowly," a familiar voice that Dean couldn't quite place said, "but you can't scream."

The attacker released him and Dean turned around to find himself staring into dark hazel eyes. It was like looking into a mirror, but instead of seeing the new softness of the features he'd become accustomed to since the explosion he saw only hatred and a kind of subtle evil.

He screamed, hoping that Sam would hear him and come running, come to his rescue as he always did. It was one of the reasons he needed his brother to stay around.

Before he even saw his attacker's arm move, the heavy handle of the knife came whistling through the air, connecting cleanly with Dean's forehead. He fell to the grimy street, unconscious.

"Told you not to scream," the attacker smirked, grabbing his twin's wrists and pulling him through the muck in the alley to the Impala.

He slid in behind the wheel, wincing at the pain that shot through his back as he did so. Looking in the rearview mirror to make sure his 'better half' was still out cold, he noticed blood slowly trickling down his forehead.

"What the-?" he sped off, leaving the little motel and Sammy in the dust.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," someone sneered as Dean opened his eyes. His head ached dully and his back felt raw.

"Where am I?" he asked, blinking in the bright fluorescents. Looking around he saw old furniture, mounds of dust, and bare, unpainted walls. The floor he was sitting on was made of cement and not at all comfortable. Both of his hands had fallen asleep behind his back, where they'd been tied around a support beam.

"Where are my manners? Welcome to my humble home. Well, it _was_ Steph's place, but I don't think she'll be needing it anymore. We're in the basement. Nice, huh? Big house. Better than anything you'd ever be able to afford, that's for sure."

"Who are you?" Dean demanded, beginning to struggle against his bonds.

"I'm you," his captor replied, stepping into view and slumping into an old leather chair, "well, the stronger, faster, sexier part of you anyway." He smirked. Again, Dean had the sensation of looking into a twisted mirror. The reflection he saw was almost right, but there was something amiss with the persona. Something evil stirring beneath the familiar hazel eyes.

Dean struggled harder, hoping to loosen the ropes that held him enough to slip free of his evil twin's grasp. He was surprised when cool metal began cutting into his wrists, burning.

"Stop it," the other him commanded, pushing up the sleeve of his dark jacket to inspect his quickly reddening wrists, "that hurts." He laughed again.

"What do you want with me?"

"You cut right to the chase, don't you? You're not even curious about what I've been up to? How I'm even here?"

"Sam filled me in."

"Right. Little psychic Sammy. Thinks he knows everything. Like he's so much better than us. I thought I told you to stop struggling!

"You know, I always wondered why we kept those cuffs. It's not like we'll ever have the key. Remember when we got them, how we had to use a car antenna just to get free before those two bumbling hicks found us? And then _you_ went after Sammy. Got us backed right up into a corner. We almost died. And for what? To get insulted by some psychic _freak show?_"

"Sam's going to come looking for me," Dean muttered, having trouble believing the harsh words being spoken with his voice.

The other Dean smirked, his eyes glinting as he massaged his sore wrists. "Not if you go waltzing back into that motel room." Smiling wide, he stood and walked to the stairs, sparing a brief moment to look back at his captive. "Don't do anything I would," he cautioned, "though I doubt you can even fathom…"


	8. Chapter 8

Wow! A bunch of reviews have poured in! You have no idea how happy that makes me. I guess it's time to see what happens to poor ol' Sammy...

* * *

Sam stared intently at the blank screen of his laptop. He'd spent most of the night lying on the bed, flipping through the numerous pages in his father's journal. There had been a few vague entries about doppelgangers, but nothing on people suddenly splitting into two different personalities.

The page loaded and he scrolled down the screen. The had been no previous odd occurrences in Onyx, though when the name of the town had been typed into a search engine something promising had popped up. Turned out it was just a summary of some stupid television show episode. Another dead end.

"Any news Sammy?" Dean asked, walking into the room and tossing his key onto the bed.

"Nothing good, but I'm pretty sure I was right about _how_ this happened."

"Of course you were, genius."

Sam ignored the spiteful sarcasm in his brother's voice. "Just listen, all right, I've got a theory. You know how I thought Peter's energy was expelled when he died and the explosion sent it flying into you?"

Dean rolled his eyes, looking over Sam's shoulder at the complete history of Onyx. Slowly, he brought his weapon of choice out of his back pocket.

"Well, recreating the explosion while using rock salt to expel the ghostly energy should put you back together. We just need to get good and bad you in the same room and blow it up. Shouldn't be too hard. What do you think?"

Dean chuckled. "I think you're pretty full of yourself, Sammy," he said, bringing the handle of his knife down on Sam's head.

Sam blinked and looked around. He was in some kind of well-lit, badly furnished room, his arms tied tightly behind his back and around some sort of post. Sharp pain ripped through the back of his head as he took in his surroundings. Dean had hit him hard on the swollen lump from his last attack, causing it to rise painfully higher.

"You awake?" someone whispered beside him. Sam turned, head pounding, to see his brother tied to a support beam.

"Where are we?" he asked, head swimming.

"In some girl's basement. The other me said her name's Steph. We're both tied to wooden support beams. You've been out for a while. I was getting worried."

Sam hung his head, struggling to ignore the pain searing through his skull. Steph had been the nickname of the first murder victim. The other part of Dean must have slain the girl and taken her house as a prize. Or maybe he'd just wanted something to remember her by. Either way, he'd still killed someone.

"I'm fine," Sam groaned, turning back to his brother, "just a few bumps and bruises. Splitting headache. Nothing I can't handle."

Footsteps echoed overhead as the brothers' captor returned to the house. The boys turned to the old wooden stairs as the door leading down to the basement opened with a sickening creak.

Heavy footfalls thudded down the groaning steps before finally coming to a halt on the basement's concrete floor. Clad all in black, as was his style, the Winchesters' attacker strolled into the room, smirking.

"Good to see you up, Sammy," he said, "really needed you to be awake for this."

"What are you going to do?" Dean's good half asked, beginning to struggle again with the handcuffs, which had been loosened for the betterment of his captor.

"I'm going to kill him. And you're going to watch me." He pulled the knife from the pocket of his jacket, still wearing that horrible smirk, his eyes shining with maniac light.

"You can't," Sam muttered, looking from the man in front of him to the one tied beside him. They looked exactly alike, though different somehow. Deep down, one was good, the other composed of evil he'd never known his brother to be capable of. It scared him a bit.

"Oh, I can and I will. But first, I'm going to talk. See, it's more fun if I draw this out, make you both suffer. Besides, my therapist says that I have anger issues and talking through them will help me come to terms with blah, blah, blah. She wasn't all that great if you ask me. Victim number five. She screamed bloody murder, which I guess is fitting, as it was.

"Now," he continued, turning the knife slowly in his hand, watching with fascination as the light glinted off the shining steel blade, "let's talk about our feelings. You have a lot of problems with me, don't you, Sammy? Or should I just call you luggage? I drag you all across the country, saving your ass every chance I get, and what thanks do I get? Insults.

"Oh, Dean," he mocked, "you got beat up by a thirteen year old hick. Oh, Dean, you can't really be scared of _airplanes_. Oh, Dean, did those mean old townsfolk tie you to a tree? Oh, Dean, you got shot through the brain by your own gun. Isn't that funny?"

Sam turned away. He'd been expecting something bad, but nothing like this. He'd known Dean kept his share of secrets, but did he really feel that he was being insulted?

"And you," Dean muttered, turning to look at his better half, "you just have to go and save him, don't you? He's not even grateful. Doesn't even care. He's going to _leave,_ going to go back to that fancy college, to those normal friends, and forget all about you. Again.

"Well, I'm going to make sure you get to say your good-byes properly." He turned back to Sam, grinning, "you're going to watch this closely, because I'm interested in seeing your reaction." Dean bent down by his brother, slanting the knife sideways, watching it sparkle.

"Watch, Dean," he whispered, holding the knife up to Sam's neck and applying pressure.

"Hurt him," the other Dean shouted suddenly, struggling harder against the handcuffs that bound him in place, "and I'll kill you!"

"No you won't. You don't have it in you. You aren't capable of murder." He turned back to Sam, pushing the knife just hard enough to draw blood from the younger hunter's throat, "but I am."

Sam had had enough. It was bad enough to get knocked unconscious by his older brother, but to die at this maniac's hands? He couldn't deal with it. He struggled hard against the ropes tying him to the beam, causing the knife to cut deeper into his neck. He screamed, but he wasn't the only one.

Sam looked up in time to see his brother's evil side flying across the room to demolish an old stack of packing crates, the bloody knife falling from his hand in midair. Beside him, the other Dean had stopped struggling and began screaming in pain, a small cut appearing above his right eye and beginning to bleed.

"You can't hurt him," Sam marveled, as Dean climbed from the overturned pile of boxes, wiping fresh blood from the cut above his eye, "anything that happens to you happens to him, so the opposite-"

"Way ahead of you, college boy," he sneered, turning and pulling up the back of his shirt to reveal something similar to rug burn, "I had to drag that crybaby all through the alley before I got back to the car. It wasn't a pleasant experience for either of us."

Sam smiled. He was safe, for the time being. He looked at his brother, the one he thought of as his _real_ brother, anyway. Good Dean. The one that would die protecting him. He never saw the bad guy pull the gun, only felt the explosion of the bullet through his chest.

"Sam!"

Sam looked up to see the twisted version of Dean Winchester standing over him, gun smoking.

"Rock salt?" he asked vaguely, his chest feeling as if it was on fire.

"Hurts, doesn't it?"

"But it won't kill him," Dean said triumphantly, ceasing the struggle against the cuffs and relaxing back against the support beam. The evil him had given him a scare. For a minute, he thought he'd murdered his brother.

"I have a whole trunk chock full of weapons for that," he smirked, "which I think I'll go inspect now." He turned, walking up the creaking old stairs, muttering about the different ways he could exterminate his know-it-all little brother.

"Sam, look. He dropped the knife."

Sam glanced around the mess of the room, spots swimming in front of his eyes. When Dean wanted revenge he got it, slowly and painfully. The bloody knife lay in the middle of the floor where it had fallen, far out of the captives' reach.

"What good is it gonna do us? We can't reach it over there."

Dean smiled, "maybe I can't, but you can. Don't look so confused. You threw that jerk halfway across the room, Sam, I'm pretty sure you can move the knife."

"If I've told you once," Sam sighed, fighting the urge to pass out, "I've told you a thousand times. I can't turn it on and off. It just doesn't work like that."

"You've never really tried, though. Come on, man, I believe in you."

Sam just stared at his brother. He'd never thought he'd see the day when Dean said anything like that. It was almost touching, save the fact that Dean was the one who'd tied him up and tried to slit his throat in the first place.

"Fine," he conceded, looking back at the knife, "but if it comes flying through the air to impale me, it's all your fault."

Dean suddenly seemed concerned, as if it was a risk he was unwilling to take. "Maybe…"

"I was kidding. Nothing's going to happen until that freak comes back with the real bullets. Don't worry your pretty little head, at least not yet." He smiled, the high-pitched screech of metal against the concrete floor drawing his attention slowly back to the knife. It had moved.

The brothers stared at the knife, both convinced that it had inched closer across the floor.

"See, I knew you had it in you," Dean beamed.

"Coincidence," Sam said, turning back towards his brother, "or a rat. There might be rats down here." Something screeched across the floor again, moving closer slowly but surely, causing both Winchesters to look back at the weapon.

"It stops when we look at it," Dean muttered, "so, Sam, tell me, how was your day?"

"My day?" he asked, looking back at Dean, "what has that got to do with-" the knife moved closer, screaming across the floor. "I get it," he said, smiling, "yeah. My day's been perfect so far. I woke up, got tortured by a psycho- no offense- and now I guess I'm trying to get this stupid knife as close to my feet as possible so I can-"

The unearthly screeching stopped. Sam turned from his brother's triumphant grin to see the weapon sitting by his feet, within reach.

Glancing nervously back towards the stairs, Sammy stretched out his foot and stomped on the knife. Slowly, he began pulling it closer, until he found himself kneeling on the concrete floor of the basement, trying to get the weapon as close to hands as he could. He finally felt his fingers connect with the warm blood and cool steel of the blade, and turned the knife around.


	9. Chapter 9

Thanks again to everyone who's been updating! And the sequel is coming along nicely, in case anyone was wondering!

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Sam quickly began cutting through the ropes that bound him, inching closer and closer to freedom. Finally, the ties gave and he broke free, rubbing his wrists gingerly.

"Your turn," he grinned, pointing the knife's blade toward his brother, watching his blood glimmer in the overhead lights.

"Good luck," Dean muttered as Sam noticed for the first time that his brother was being held, not by ropes, but by handcuffs.

"He's got the key in his pocket, right?"

Dean shook his head. "Got the cuffs when you were kidnapped by those inbreds. The cop stuck me to her car, can you believe it? I've kept these in the glove compartment since."

"That's a 'no' on the key thing, then?"

"You could use a car antenna. I'm sure the Impala's parked outside."

"You'd let me destroy your car?" Sam asked skeptically, searching the cluttered room for anything that could be used to pick the locks, "that's hard for me to believe."

Somewhere in the house a door opened and footsteps echoed again over the boys' heads.

"He's back. You need to go, Sam. He can't kill me. Save yourself."

"Are you kidding?" Sam scoffed, "I'm not going to leave you here to be tortured. Besides, I just found a key." He held up a dusty old notebook, probably Steph's diary, and began to unwind the spiral binding. "This should work," he muttered under his breath, stepping behind his brother and jiggling the tiny wire in the lock.

The lock clicked and the cuffs opened easily. Dean stood up, stretching his legs and revealing a large amount of blood smeared on the back of his shirt. "We need to go," he whispered, grabbing Sam's arm and dropping the handcuffs on the floor, where they clanked loudly, "bring the knife, just in case."

"I can't hurt him," Sam began as the brothers reached the staircase, "if I do-"

Dean turned around, strengthening his grip on Sammy's arm. "If anything goes bad," he said, locking eyes with his brother, "I'm giving you permission to kill me. Hit either one of us with that thing, and we'll both cease to exist. I want you to save yourself, Sam, and forget about me. If he attacks you, do what you need to."

"I can't kill you," Sam argued, "you know that."

Dean grinned. "You've tried before. Besides, off me and there'll be two fewer freaks in the world." He began up the stairs, pulling Sammy along behind him.

"Keep quiet," Sam warned as Dean reached for the door leading from the basement to the main house, "the place is pretty old. It creaks already, we don't want to add to the noise."

Dean nodded as he eased the old door open far enough for both men to squeeze through. As carefully as possible, the brothers snuck into the room beyond the door. It was much tidier than the basement, very well-kept, if you overlooked the empty beer bottles and blood-drenched clothing that littered the floor.

"You certainly are a neat freak," Sam muttered, surveying the room they had entered. At one time it had been a prim and proper sitting area, the perfect place to entertain guests. Now, however, the place was completely trashed. Someone had upturned the small coffee table, ransacked the poor girl's cassette collection, and torn up sections of the fireplace.

"What was he looking for?" Dean whispered, pulling Sam through a cluttered doorway and into an equally crowded hall.

"Remote?"

A clanking sound traveled down the hallway from an open door. Someone in that room was singing under their breath, just loud enough for the boys to hear. What appeared to be a door to the outside world stood, mercifully unlocked, at the end of the hall. The brothers moved cautiously toward it.

The odd noises and monotone singing grew closer as they approached the door and what appeared to be the kitchen.

"Keep quiet," Dean warned, holding out a hand to stop his brother, "he's in there. If he hears us, he'll have a clean shot at you."

Sam nodded and followed the elder slowly past the open entrance to the kitchen. Inside the room, the twisted version of Dean sat with his back to the door at a table covered in old Chinese take-out cartons, carefully loading a gun and humming happily to himself.

The brothers snuck past with barely a sound and reached the door to their freedom. Sighing with relief, Sam pulled it open. The door squealed loudly, hurting both boys' ears and alerting their psychotic captor of their escape.

Running out the door, Sam and Dean found themselves standing in a small, barren yard surrounded by a high fence. The noonday sun beat relentlessly down on them as they searched for a way out of the yard.

"We're going to have to climb," Sam said as the door squealed again and Dean ran out, gun aimed at Sammy's head.

Grabbing his brother's arm, Dean pushed Sam toward the chain link fence, urging him to climb. He turned to his evil twin as Sam struggled to get a good foothold among the many small diamond-shaped links.

"I'm not gonna let you hurt him."

"You don't have a choice," the other smirked, pushing him out of the way and beginning to climb as Sam jumped over the fence and into the alley beyond.

Dean followed, scrambling up the fence faster than the evil him, who was weighed down by the gun in his hand, could climb. He jumped over easily and ran after Sam.

He heard a thump as his evil half landed safely in the alleyway and began running. Dean caught up to Sam, who had paused by another tall fence to catch his breath.

"Who was this chick trying to keep out?" he panted, looking quickly back over his shoulder.

"Beats me. Did he follow you?" A gunshot rang out through the alley in reply, chipping off a chunk of red brick wall close to Sam's left ear.

"Yes, Sam, I think he did. Now CLIMB!" Dean gave his brother a boost and watched him scale half the fence before getting a good hold on the chain link and clambering up after.

Sam jumped down and stood waiting for his brother, who soon landed safely in the alley beside him. The two men gazed back in the direction from which they'd come, waiting anxiously for their attacker to appear.

"Guess he gave up," Sam shrugged, though he knew that it was unusual for Dean to ever stop in the middle of a good chase, "we were too fast for him. You. You know what I mean."

"Think again," someone said from deep within the alley's few and scattered shadows. Another gunshot echoed off the high brick walls as Dean pushed Sam behind a dumpster and out of range.

Two identical screams rang out in the alley as the bullet buried itself in Dean's shoulder. Sam reached out from his shelter and grabbed his brother, pulling him gently farther into Onyx's network of back alleys.

"You can't hide behind that weakling forever, Sammy. I will find you, and when I do, it's gonna hurt like Hell!" the familiar voice cried out, making Sam cringe. It was so like his real brother's though it lacked something human, something kind.

The Winchesters ran down the alley, Sam dragging his whimpering brother along behind him, and out into one of the town's main streets. As they slowed their sprint to a fast walk, people stared. Sam realized they must both have looked horrible, after being attacked, chained up, and shot at.

"We going back to the room?" Dean asked faintly as a woman and her young daughter stepped into the middle of the street to avoid sharing a sidewalk with the boys.

Sam shook his head. "No way. You're a mess. Besides, we need to get that bullet out."

"You've done that a hundred times," Dean argued, stopping to look at his brother, "back when dad was with us, remember?"

"I just don't want to mess up."

"You won't. I trust you with my life, Sam. Let's go back to the room now, get cleaned up, and try to find a way to get me put back together. All right?"


	10. Chapter 10

Wow. I'm really amazed by the response this story is getting. Well, keep reveiwing, and I'll keep on updating!

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"Just tie me up, will you? It's not like it'll be a new experience for either of us."

Sam looked disgusted as he twisted the bed sheets around to form a rope.

Dean sighed. "Upstairs brain, dude, seriously. I don't want to hurt you when you do this."

"You wouldn't have to worry about it if we just went to a hospital," Sam argued as he began wrapping the makeshift restraints around his brother's wrists and ankles, tying him securely to the recently stripped motel bed, "besides, our first aid kit was in the car, which we no longer have. How am I supposed to pull a bullet out of your shoulder now?"

"Use the knife. Just work it out. We've done it before."

Sam nodded nervously and grabbed the knife. "I should probably clean it up first, right?" he asked, smiling a little.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "that would be nice. Thanks."

Sammy headed into the room's tiny bathroom and ran some water over the weapon, scrubbing it fiercely. Sighing loudly, he walked back into the main room, drying the knife on his shirt, unsure of how clean the motel's towels really were.

"You sure you want me to do this?" he asked, sitting by his brother on the bed.

"Just hurry up before I change my mind."

"You'll be conscious the whole time."

"I realize that, Sam, now-"

"There's no way I can numb-"

"Just pull the damn bullet out!"

"Fine," Sam conceded, leaning closer to inspect the wound, "you're lucky, you know? It didn't go too far in. This won't take long. Just bite this. Wouldn't want you to ruin those pearly whites." He stuck a soggy motel washcloth in his brother's mouth. Dean clenched his teeth and closed his eyes tight, waiting for the inevitable pain.

As carefully as he could, Sam eased the knife into his brother's shoulder, watching the older man pale and begin to struggle against the bonds that held him to the bed.

He dug deeper into Dean's flesh with the knife, working around the bullet, under it. Finally, he got a decent hold on it. Slowly, Sam brought the knife and the bullet out of the hole in his brother's shoulder.

"Got it," he muttered, though Dean didn't hear him. He had passed out.

Dean slammed the door behind him as he entered the house. It wasn't fair. Somehow, both of his captives had gotten free and escaped, despite his best efforts to stop them. Worse yet, he had practically shot himself while trying to end his miserable little brother's worthless life.

His shoulder throbbed dully, blood trickling down his arm under his leather jacket. He hated them both.

Still fuming, Dean threw the gun down on the sitting room floor as he made his way back to the kitchen, where he overturned the large wooden table with one smooth motion. He should have used the crossbow. Or maybe grabbed a machete. Hell, he had been close enough to them. Could have swiped it right through that flimsy fence and finished them both.

Or just Sammy. To kill the other one would mean certain death, and that was bad.

Gingerly, he slid his jacket off his right arm. He pulled up his shirt sleeve, revealing a neat little hole in his shoulder. Dean grimaced with pain. One way or another, he would have his revenge. Sammy would pay the ultimate price.

Sudden pain flared in Dean's arm, radiating from the bullet hole in his shoulder. He screamed and staggered back towards the door to the hall. That freak was doing something to him, the _other_ him, and he could feel it. Maybe trying to extract the bullet.

Pain ripped down his arm, making his head spin. Dean collapsed on the kitchen floor among a jumble of old beer cans and take-out containers, his wound bleeding profusely.


	11. Chapter 11

Wow. Even more reviews! For those of you wondering about the sequel... well, I'm still working on it, but it's coming along nicely (though it's really loooong!). Expect it up fairly soon after I finish this one :)

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"So, this plan of yours," Dean began, cringing as he sat up, "what _exactly_ does it entail?"

He had come around almost two hours after the bullet had been removed and been in constant pain ever since. He was trying his best to hide it, but his best wasn't good enough to get past Sam, who made him stay in bed and move as little as possible.

"I told you," Sammy muttered, handing Dean a couple of Tylenol, "just lay back until you feel better. Then we can talk about the plan."

"But now is the best time to attack. I was expecting that pain and I still passed out. Just think of what the other me is feeling right now."

Sam sighed. He had a point. "All right. I figure that since the explosion caused you to split in two, maybe another one will force you back together."

"I thought you said Peter was involved in the first one somehow." Dean said, closing his eyes against the constant throbbing pain in his shoulder.

"Yeah. If we can get whatever part of him got transferred to you two out-"

"We should get back to normal."

"Theoretically, yes. But both of you will need to be in the same room, and I'll need to create an explosion _while _getting rid of Peter's energy. No easy task."

"It would be if we had our guns. Rock salt. Or maybe even something to lure that freak out with."

Sam considered. As things were, his only plan was pretty much useless without something to cause an explosion. The fact that Bad Dean knew the plan didn't help, either. He wasn't as stupid as he looked, and it would be difficult to lure him anywhere without the right bait.

"The car," he muttered, "if we had the car we'd have everything in the trunk. You love that car. You'd go after it."

"What?"

"You remember how to hotwire a car?" Sam asked after a short silence.

"Of course. I've been doing it since I was ten. But what's that got to do with-"

"Can you walk?"

"I got shot in the arm, Sam. Yeah, I can walk. Why?"

"Because we have to go back to that house, take the car, and go back to the hospital."

"Why the hospital?" Dean asked.

"We need a couple of oxygen tanks. I think I can nonchalantly grab a couple if you can distract a few nurses."

"I don't think we'll need to worry about that," Dean said, "they closed the hospital down. They might demolish it completely. There was so much damage after that fire they can't possibly rebuild that wing."

"How are we supposed to recreate that explosion, then?" Sam asked, shaking his head. He hadn't expected them to close the place down.

"It's only been about a week. They haven't completely finished cleaning it out yet. There may still be something flammable in there, we're just going to have to find it."

The brothers walked quietly down the street. Dean's arm had been bandaged and hung loosely in a sling at his side.

"Which one is it again?" he asked, looking at the numbers on each door they passed.

"Stephanie Burgen," Sam said, reading the address he'd found in the phonebook and written on a sheaf of notebook paper, "1246 Ross Lane. We're at 1237. Not much farther. Relax, would you? Nothing's going to happen."

"Except grand theft auto and a big explosion in a condemned hospital," Dean replied nervously, "yeah, we should be fine."

They stopped in front of the last house on the street. "1246," Sam muttered, gazing around the street in front of the sprawling home, "looks bigger out front than in back."

Dean nodded. "I guess. There's the car."

The eldest hunter's trusty Impala was parked in the middle of the house's long driveway. The brothers approached it cautiously, glancing around the street for witnesses.

"What if he's cleaned out the trunk?" Dean asked, pulling out the metal coat hanger they'd swiped from the motel room, "what if he's onto us?"

"He wouldn't have gotten rid of those weapons, " Sam reasoned as Dean tripped the lock and pulled the car door easily open, "and you said yourself that your arm still hurts, so he's probably not even conscious."

"True," he shrugged, unlocking the doors and nodding for his younger brother to get in. Dean slid in behind the wheel and began his work, struggling to concentrate against the pain in his shoulder.

The sound of an engine revving close to the house woke Dean from his troubled sleep. He looked around, trying unsuccessfully to hoist himself up with his injured arm. The memories of the day came flooding back with crippling clarity and he cursed himself for passing out.

Slowly, Dean struggled to his feet, slipping momentarily in the pool of blood that had accumulated on the kitchen floor, and looked out the front window in time to see his precious car driving down the street. He stuck his hand in his pocket, confirming that he had the keys. Someone had stolen his car, his baby.

Growling low in his throat, Dean pulled open the front door and staggered out after the car thieves. The thought of taking the gun with which he'd planned to kill his ungrateful younger sibling never occurred to him.

Anyone stupid enough to try and take his car deserved to die slowly in his arms.

The Impala pulled up beside one section of yellow police tape that blocked off the hospital and both brothers got out. They moved around to the back of the car and popped the trunk, then unlocked the compartment hidden beneath.

"Rock salt," Sam muttered, loading the gun, "should help expel whatever part of that guy caused this."

Dean nodded in a agreement, looking carefully back over his shoulder. The sun was setting over the town and the night creatures had begun to make their first cautious noises, the beginning of a symphony which usually sounded so sweet.

"Remember, Sam," he said quietly, putting a hand on his brother's arm, "if anything goes wrong, if this plan doesn't work, kill one of us. Stop him."

"All right," Sammy nodded reluctantly, "you want this?" He held a gun out to his brother, who pushed it away.

"I'm fine. Besides, he won't hurt me."

Together, the Winchester brothers headed into the doomed hospital, deep in thought.


	12. Chapter 12

Sigh The final chapter. The end. Do not fear, though, fpr the sequel has been finished and will be put up on this site soon, so keep your eyes open. Thanks for all the reviews on this story, I'm really glad so many people liked it :)

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"Finally," Dean muttered, sliding in behind the wheel of his car. Just trying to walk to the hospital, which wasn't too far from the house, had taken a lot out of him. Taped to the wheel was a piece of paper with 'To Evil Dean' written on the front. He laughed and opened it.

'Dear Evil Dean,

We took your car. Aren't we clever? Knowing you, you want revenge right about now. Who are we to stop you? We'll be waiting in the hospital, just follow the clues, find the room, and then we're all yours. Good luck,

Sam and Good Dean'

Dean smirked. It was just like them to lure him out with the car, but they had no idea the kind of primal rage they had invoked. He would find them both and kill Sammy as slowly as possible, relishing the moment and torturing his better half. It was a good plan, if he could find them.

The trail of peanut M&Ms started at the car door. Finding the brothers Winchester would not be difficult at all.

Sam crouched outside the room behind a gurney. He hated leaving Dean alone to face the freak that had mercilessly tortured them both. Footsteps echoed down the empty hall, undoubtedly following the trail that Dean had left. Sammy gulped.

The person, clad all in black, came around the corner. His shirt was sticky with fresh blood and he appeared pale and weak. Something burned in his eyes, though, an anger that Sam had never seen in his brother before, and it scared him greatly.

Dean sat on one of the two small beds in the room, his feet swinging slowly back and forth, deep in thought. He had given his brother permission to kill him, strike him dead if anything went wrong. Lots of things could go wrong.

The three lone oxygen tanks the boys had found in a store room were old, maybe even empty, and if the bullet didn't do it's job and ignite the gas there would be no explosion. No explosion meant no more togetherness time for Dean and his evil half.

He heard the footsteps and hoped that Sam had gotten himself hidden well enough. The moment of truth was upon them. If anything went wrong, if anything happened to Sam, it would be his fault. Dean wasn't sure if he could live with that.

"Hello me."

Dean looked up into his face. It was pale, cruel, heartless, and once again harboring that somehow sinister smirk. The eyes blazed with a cold, devilish fire.

"Been waiting for you," Dean replied, slipping off the bed, "how've you been?" He smiled.

"Better," the other nodded, entering the room and taking a look around. "Oxygen, huh? Gonna try Sammy's little explosion theory? You realize that if he's wrong we'll both be blown to bits, right?"

"I trust him."

"I wouldn't if I were you, which I am. Does he have any research to back this up? No. This is a one-of-a-kind problem. Who knows, maybe it was meant to be? Maybe this is all for the best."

"This is wrong and you know it," the two were circling the room, staring each other down, "things aren't supposed to be this way."

"Do you have any idea how long I've waited to get free? I'm more than the little voice in your head, Dean, I'm you. I'm the one who wanted to kill LeGrange. And Max. I'm the one who threatened the Benders after you got us tied up. I'm the one who wanted Cassie. You're the one who let her live after she broke up with us. You're pathetic."

"That's pretty deep," Dean said, "but I don't believe it. You tried to kill Sam. I'd never do that."

"But you've thought about it," the other him countered, "you've thought about it a lot. Wouldn't it just be better for you if he was gone? Wouldn't daddy love you more? Treat you like he's always treated Sammy? Make you his new favorite? What if they were both gone?"

"Shut up! You don't mean that!"

"Of course I do. Admit it. If you didn't have to save his butt, if you didn't get punished for every scrape and scab, bruise and blister in his childhood, your life would be perfect. That's what the real Dean Winchester thinks."

"I _am _the real Dean Winchester," Dean yelled, running at the twisted version of himself, something vile that had crawled from his subconscious, and slamming him against the wall.

Pain erupted in the back of Dean's head as his evil half connected with the wall. He fell off, the room spinning slowly before him. His defenses were down just long enough for his opponent to aim a punch, which hit him square in the face.

Dean regained his balance and looked at the other him. Blood ran down over the man's smirking lips, cascading from an injured nose.

"Anytime, now, Sam," Dean called, hoping that his brother hadn't been found by the other man.

"Yeah, Sammy, hurry it up! I've always wondered what it's like to get blown up and spattered all over a hospital room! Get a move on, college boy!"

"You shut up," Dean muttered, punching blindly at his opponent and hitting him in the mouth. He felt one of his own teeth wiggle uncomfortably.

"Make me," the other replied, still smirking, eyes blazing as evilly as ever, "I dare you."

Both men stood in the center of the room, swaying slightly on their feet, both taking the same beating. Their eyes locked, neither blinking.

They ran at each other and went down on the floor, a tangle of identical appearance and skill. One fought for protection, the other for the simple thrill of murder.

Sam looked carefully in the room to see his brother in the middle of a brawl on the white tiled floor. Their hands were locked together, their eyes both blazing. Teeth were bared, both were muttering. They were identical, the only way to tell them apart being the coloring of clothing visible under the blood that soaked them both. The battle was becoming intense. It was a battle for control, a battle for his life.

Sam pulled his gaze away from the struggling men on the floor and found the oxygen tanks. Aiming carefully, he pulled the trigger, praying that his plan worked and he came out with one brother.

The bullet hit the tank head-on, causing a massive blast of heat to erupt from the room, knocking Sam backwards into a whitewashed wall. He squinted toward the door, unable to see what was happening in the room due to the large amount of smoke billowing from the doorway.

"Dean?" he cried, his voice seeming weak compared to the roaring noise of the fire that had started.

The bullet whizzed passed their heads as they knelt on the floor, engaged in an odd sort of hand-to-hand combat.

"It'll never work!" the evil Dean yelled, "we're equally matched and we will-"

Dean had to assume that the next word from his mouth would be 'die,' as the explosion issuing from the corner of the room drowned out all noise. Both were thrown back by a blast of intense heat.

Dean was thrown back against the wall and felt the other body connect with his only seconds later. He felt crushed, suffocated, and then a thought occurred to him, spoken clearly in his mind in a familiar, acidic voice: "Kill him now."

"Dean?" Sam yelled as the dust settled. Gun held before him as a precaution, he approached the smoldering doorway.

"Don't shoot," Dean muttered, staggering from the room, which was only half there anymore.

Sam lowered his gun. "You OK?" His brother was bleeding badly. His nose may have been broken, his lip was split, there was a visible lump on the back of his head, and the old bullet wound had reopened. He was wearing the bloody white shirt under his prized leather jacket, like the two personality's outfits had been somehow combined.

"I'm fine now, Sammy," he answered, raising his head and smirking. He ran at his brother, pinning him against the wall, attempting to strangle him.

"Dean," Sam choked, chocked, "I-I'm your brother!"

Dean's eyes locked with his. Something vicious swam beneath them, something evil.

"Fight it," Sammy muttered as blackness crowded into his vision, "please. I know you're there. You can control it. Please, Dean."

As his world faded to black, Sam noticed the coldness within his older brother's eyes melt. Dean took a step back, his head hung low.

"You should have killed me, Sam," he whispered, falling to the floor, "should have killed me when you had the chance." Both brothers passed out.

The Impala drove down the highway towards the Winchesters' next destination. Sam was, for once, in the driver's seat. The car seemed eerily quiet without the radio blaring loud rock music. Everything had been quiet since Sam had come around in the motel room to find his brother standing over him, concern apparent in his deep hazel eyes.

Dean had barely spoken since the brothers had left Onyx, though Sammy had tried to strike up conversations.

"We are going to need to talk about this, Dean," he said quietly, looking at his brother. Dean just sat staring out the window, lost in thought.

"Come on. I know you don't like to, but-"

"I remember everything, Sam," he said suddenly, "everything both of them did. I'm not sure whether I should be embarrassed or disgusted."

"I thought the good you was cute," Sam replied, hoping to get a smile, "kind of like a little lost puppy."

"I remember everything both of them thought," Dean continued, apparently not hearing Sammy or not wanting to, "all those girls, all those murders," he closed his eyes, "all those breakdowns. They screamed. All of them."

Sam sighed. "Everyone has a little bad in them, Dean. It's human nature."

Dean just kept staring blankly out the window. "Killing seven people isn't a little bad, Sammy. It's a lot of evil."


End file.
